Klutzinator
by Burnt Cheese
Summary: I'm Rose Weasley - impossibly clumsy, vertically challenged, hopelessly klutzy and completely useless at Quidditch. So why am I standing in the middle of the freezing Quidditch pitch with a broomstick straddled between my legs? Rose/Scorpius
1. Prologue

Before I start my story, picture this in your head as clearly as you can:

You're walking down a hallway. Tap, tap, tap, go your brand new shoes. You've just showered and used a Straightening Charm on your hair and it's very glossy and silky. You feel fresh and clean. You're wearing your brand new jeans that make your butt look really good and this new scarf. You shake your head a little as you walk with a huge smile on your face. A couple of books are in your hands. You're in an unusually good mood and you feel confident.

And then…

You trip on the long hem of your robes. You sprawl. The books fly out of your grasp. You let out a shriek of terror. Hands flail. Feet tangle. You make contact with the floor with a loud "oof!". People stop to stare and giggle. You pick yourself off the cold, hard floor and quickly collect your books. Your knee is bruised. You curse loudly. Your elbow is grazed. Your dignity is severely wounded. The previous good mood has completely dissipated.

Sound familiar? No? Not even a little?

Then you're one of the lucky ones.

This scenario, my friend, is practically a daily occurrence for me. As you've probably deduced by now, I'm one of Those People. Those pathetically clumsy, perpetually embarrassed, hopelessly klutzy individuals you probably come across at least once or twice in your life.

I am one of them.

Clumsiness might not be categorized as a life-threatening disease but it might as well be. Every rock/pebble/crack/puddle/high-heeled shoe/bench/broomstick I see is a potential Dangerous Object I Will Most Probably Catch My Stupid Foot On. Or DOIWMPCMFO. I call them DeeOhs for short. You might think that I'm going a little overboard by actually naming them, but you'll understand better if you're constantly picking yourself off the floor, blushing furiously and muttering apologies to anyone you unintentionally harmed.

Anyone who knows me even vaguely instantly associates me with my clumsiness. As in, "Oh, Rose Weasley? The Klutzinator, you're talking about? She set my crotch on fire, the other day. She's dangerous, she is."

Believe it or not, but nearly seventy percent of my various acquaintances/enemies/friends know me because I have:

a. Spilt a liquid on them.

b. Accidentally damaged one or more or their personal belongings because of my ineptitude.

c. Broken anything fragile they own.

d. Caught my foot on something that belongs to them. Example: cat, toad, owl, bag strap (I hate it when people drape them on floors. It's like they're personally inviting me to trip over them), playswing, carpet, cauldron, the hem of their robe (stupid hems - they always get me one way or another).

e. Accidentally pulling them down too when I trip. (Ah, I always do this. I remember a time when I stumbled over that stupid vanishing step on the third floor staircase. My hand shot out and I grabbed ahold of whatever that was closest to me to break my fall - a reflex action. Turns out Professor Dregbert - the only good-looking professor in the entire school - was walking by and I'd been clutching at his… well. His loins. Ugh, I don't even want to think about it anymore. Hugo and James wouldn't let me forget that for months. Aresholes, they are. Moving on, then).

f. Single-handedly ruining any task or project they undertake.

Needless to say, I am a walking, talking, breathing, defecating disaster machine.

Everyone knows this. So they keep as far away from me. As. Possible.

Just kidding. But seriously, I'm dangerous.

On a completely different but related note, let's talk about Quidditch. Everyone loves Quidditch. Well, who wouldn't? Uh- huh. Well, not me. Here's an interesting equation for you: Rose Weasley + klutziness + sheer inability for balance + broomstick + fifty feet in the air = DISASTER CRASH BANG WALLOP OUCHIE WOUCHIE.

I've tried to get on a broomstick for about two times in my life: the first when I was five and I didn't know any better (I fractured my skull). Even at the tender age of five I knew that broomsticks and I didn't exactly mix (by this time, I was already banging my poor head on open cupboard doors left, right and centre). My second time was when I was eleven. I'd just entered my first year and I was a wee little thing, all quiet and no talk. So when it came to flying lessons, I kept my mouth shut, heart juddering like mad and hoping that somehow, by some miracle, I would make it through this lesson unscathed.

Alas, I'd barely escaped alive. I spent about five days in the Hospital Wing, recovering and swearing to myself that I would never, never, ever, EVER get on a broomstick again. I also vaguely recall savagely burning that sodding broomstick I rode in the shadowy corners of the Hogwarts grounds.

Heh.

But I digress. Reminiscing aside, Quidditch is potentially unhealthy for me. I cannot do anything that involves even the slightest modicum of balance.

So why I'm standing in the Quidditch field in the middle of October, chilly wind stinging my cheeks, utterly terrified and straddling a battered Nimbus 2000 with frozen fingers is beyond me.

--

It seems that I've landed myself in quite the predicament.

'Go on!' my arsehole of a brother, Hugo, is just standing there in the corner, wind ruffling his red hair, not lending a hand to help his elder sister.

I abhor him, I really do. He knows full well I can't do bollocks with a broomstick. I shot him the filthiest glare I can manage. And I know it's pretty filthy, I've practiced loads of times in front of a mirror to scare first-years when they don't listen to me, a Prefect.

'How exactly do you ride a broomstick?' I'd asked James at the very last minute before I was forced to meet my doom. James simply laughed, apparently under the impression I was making a funny. I suppose something in my expression told me I'd never been more serious in my entire life. Well, you tend to get more serious when looking straight at death. 'Just relax and… sort of convey your thoughts into the broomstick. Don't_worry_, I don't think you're that terrible.'

I loosen my fingers, trying to relax but failing miserably. Convey my thoughts to the broomstick? How exactly do you do _that_? I thought maybe pressing my forehead to the broomstick and attempting to pass on FLY AS SLOWLY AS HUMANELY POSSIBLE to the broomstick but I got the vague idea that wouldn't work. Plus it might look a _little _batty.

'Alright.' I stared up at the sky, hair whipping around my face. Maybe if I stall long enough it'll rain. Or an earthquake will come visiting. Maybe even a hurricane. Freak troll invasion? Please? Come on, I'm not even asking for much, o Freak Weather Deity. Even a bunch of Flobberworms falling mysteriously from the sky would be sufficient.

'Sometime this century?'

'I'm freezing my privates off in this cold, hurry up.' someone complained, I couldn't tell who. There were several shouts of agreement and hoots of laughter.

'Okay, okay!' I said desperately.

I looked around. Really, was it necessary for so many people to come and see me fly? I bet it was Hugo who told them I would be flying today. There was ol' Albus, all muffled up in a weird knobbly scarf and a hat Dominique probably knitted for him (she was going through her knitting phase). Next to him was tiny Molly Weasley, then Roxanne Weasley and her bestie, Nellie. James, Dobby and Fred, of coure. A few others from Gryffindor, a quiet girl from my dorm, Fred Weasley and Henry Wood, Owly Abbot and his glasses a mile thick, Raymond Barksmith… all in all, I'd say about thirty people are standing in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, freezing and waiting for me to kick off.

I gulped. There's no fecking way I can fly, not with all of them watching.

'Just 'fess up and admit that you can't fly!' Hugo cupped his woolly hands around his mouth and yelled, a huge grin on his face.

'She'll fly when she wants to!' Elisha, one of the best girls I know, shouted back. They hate each other. Funny, that, seeing how similar they are to each other. Stubborn, hot-headed and fiercely loyal.

'I'll fly, I'll fly.' I muttered more to myself than anyone. Out of the corner of my eye, Fred shot me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Yeah, Fred, like that thumbs-up is going to help.

Okay, deep breaths, Rose.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhaaaallleeee….

Exhaaaaaallllee… I inadvertently inhaled too much frosty air and choked.

'Right, here I go!' I screeched, once my sinuses cleared completely. Oh Merlin, I'm going to humiliate myself in front of seventy people. Now they get to see just how ghastly my non-existent skills on a broomstick are.

Scattered applause, and a, 'You go, Rosie!'

I steeled myself up, uttered a short prayer, tried to stop my fingers from trembling and launched myself into the air.

--

Right, this is where I'll pause for a bit.

I bet all of you are wondering: why bother riding a broomstick when you know it means possible suicide for you? Who would even be that stupid? How the feck did this ever happen?

The answer to that, my friend, is what this little story is all about.

* * *

**Author's Note:** (: Hope you guys liked/loved/adored it! Please do review, it takes about 40 seconds - give or take a few - and it means the WORLD to me. :D so just write a few vaguely encouraging words down there (example: it was good, could do better, my pants are too tight etc.) and I'll be happy for my entire life. Seriously.

This is more of a prologue than anything so the next chapter will **MOST DEFINITELY** be longer, that I can promise you xD. So I'll be updating soon!!


	2. The Day My Life Ends

**One Week Earlier**

'D. They have got to be Ds.'

'I'm going with 38DDs, mate.'

'Silly buggers - they're obviously somewhere in the E or F region.'

'You've got your head in the clouds…'

'… must have been some wicked Engorgement Charm…'

'Nah, I reckon those Muggle doctors butchered her up and put plastic in her, it's what my mum says, anyway.'

Several hoots of hushed laughter.

'Like that's even possible. Plastic? Come on, pull the other one.'

'I bloody swear, it's true!'

I rolled my eyes, back stiff and neck burning. I didn't need to be part of the conversation to know what those testosterone-choked boys in front of me were talking about. Namely,

Yes, they were in front of me.

In a DADA class.

This is the very first time the boys have sat willingly in front of me. In fact, for as long as I can remember, the girls have always preferred to sit somewhere in front, while the boys cluster at the back. They're even listening attentively to what the new professor has to say. Every single female in this class has a sort of irritated and annoyed look on their faces - but neither one of us are surprised.

Let me explain: we have a new professor. She's young, she's blonde, and she has one of the most enormous chests I've ever seen.

They're so large they're almost indecent.

The ones lucky enough (hah! If you have a Y-chromosome, that is) sitting in front practically have their tongues lolling out.

All us girls are pissed.

To be fair, the new professor - Professor Valencia - looks rather embarrassed about this. She's worn a turtleneck but they still bulge. She tries not to stick it out too much. I'm guessing she's aware that most of the boys are only sitting in front because of her.

Stupid boys. Can't they ever think about something other than sex?

To my revulsion, even my innocent (or so I thought), untainted cousin, Albus Sev, had a dazed, hazy expression on his face. He was absent-mindedly chewing his quill, leaving a rather unflattering streak of red ink across his cheek and staining his teeth.

So, all in all, it was approximately 8.23 a.m. on a beautiful Monday morning, on the first day of my fifth year in Hogwarts, and our new DADA professor didn't seem very promising.

'Look at her.' Elisha - my bestie, whispered. I nodded surreptitiously, equally disturbed.

'Never knew you swung that way, Elisha.' Dobby Longbottom - rather freckly, gangly, wispy blonde hair - our Herbology teacher's very weirdly-named son (and I thought Albus Severus was bad), named after some bloody dead elf his dad liked a lot, effortlessly cut into our conversation by turning around and grinning his head off.

'You know what I mean.' Elisha said, pushing her brown hair behind her ears. 'It's like two sodding rocks that simultaneously attached themselves to her chest, there's no way that could be natural.'

'I notice you're the only one who's not staring.' I commented, but I already knew why. Ever since ol' Dobby got together with a certain fourth year named Auster Billington last year, she's become the only girl in his life. I personally think Auster is a silly little bint and that Dobby would be better off with a more sensible girl, but who am I to talk? I have absolutely zero experience in these frivolous matters of love.

'Professor Valencia has nothing on Auster.' Dobby grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 'Even if she has enormous kno--'

'Alright, class!' said professor clapped her hands together, attempting to draw attention away from her chest area. An attempt which failed miserably. 'Everyone line up in a row!' with a flick of her unusually long wand, our desks and chairs slid cheerfully to both sides of the class, leaving the middle empty. We unenthusiastically shuffled into a line, muttering. I stumbled on the hem of my robes and accidentally hit someone on the neck with my flailing arms.

'Ack, sorry.' I apologized hastily. The girl simply nodded at me in a friendly way. I figure it's because they're all already used to my tripping and potentially fatal accidents. I fell into line, Elisha behind me. Needless to say, the overeager boys jostled past us girls and fought over who would get the best view. I'd prepared myself for a dodder of a lesson. I wasn't very hopeful; younger professors like Professor Valencia were pretty inexperienced.

She strode over and lugged out an antique cupboard that was rattling ominously. 'Boggarts!'

The entire class let out a silent groan. We'd already dealt with Boggarts last year.

'We've already dealt with Boggarts last year, professor.' my hand shot up at its own accord. I kind of hate how that happens. It's like there's this invisible spring that goes off every time I hear a question I know the answer to. It's a knee-jerk reaction.

Professor Valencia's pretty face scrunched up in worry. Then the lines smoothened out again. 'Well, a second time wouldn't hurt, right?'

My hand slithered down.

'How bloody boring.' Elisha whispered from beside me. 'It's our OWL year and McGonagall lumps us with this airhead?'

'I know!' I muttered back. We weren't the only disgruntled ones.

'I knew I should've just skipped.' Fred Weasley - fellow Gryffindor, son of Uncle George Weasley and Aunt Angelina, skin a delightful mocha brown - shuffled up behind us. 'I could've finished up that monstrosity of a Potions essay.'

'You mean you don't appreciate her…' I gestured to my own admittedly modest chestal region.

'Do mine ears detect jealousy?' Fred Weasley cupped a hand behind one ear, putting on a very dramatic surprised expression. 'Never would've known -'

I gave him a sound whack behind his head, and he whimpered. 'How very violent.'

'Pah.' I snorted derisively, half-smile on my face. 'Get in line, Freddie.'

'Alright, everybody ready?' Professor Valencia seemed genuinely excited. 'Now, if you've been listening to what I've been telling you lot just now --'

'Fat chance.' Elisha snorted. I privately agreed.

'--you should be able to deflect an attacking Boggart effectively and swiftly.' Professor Valencia pushed her spectacles up her nose and placed her hands on her hips. 'Right, is everyone ready? Hoyt, you first!'

A buff boy from Ravenclaw strode in front, chest puffed out and obviously ready to impress. What a git. His wand was pointed at the cupboard, which was almost toppling over now.

'One, two, three!' Professor Valencia promptly popped open the gold lock on the cupboard door, and the Boggart burst out.

This is the part where it gets rather interesting. I kind of like knowing what everyone is most afraid of. I don't even know what mine would be. Last year, it was the dark. When it was my turn, the whole classroom went pitch-black and I couldn't make a sound. It was pretty embarrassing, to be honest. Though this girl from my year, Emilia Hart, had it far worse. When it was her turn, the Boggart turned into her own mother. Scary.

Back to Hoyt: the Boggart turned into this bloody corpse on the ground. Almost leisurely, he "Ridikkulus"-ed it and it climbed up grotesquely and started to tap dance. Several people laughed, Professor Valencia included. 'Right, next!'

Hoyt strutted away, smirking. 'Kitsch!' Professor Valencia motioned, and said Boggart immediately morphed into a single beating heart on the ground. The boy - Kitsch - winced a little and waved his wand. 'Ridikkulus!' the heart exploded showered sweets everywhere.

'Excellent, excellent!' Professor Valencia clapped Kitsch on his back, and a momentary expression of bliss crossed over his face. 'Next, please!'

'What d'you think will appear for you?' Elisha asked idly as some spindly guy from Gryffindor stepped up.

'I dunno.' I replied vaguely. 'Probably overflowing the loo after I crap?'

Elisha elbowed me and we doubled over in silent laughter.

'How about you?' I asked, grinning. 'Will it be a trainer bra?'

Elisha is pretty sensitive about her chest. It closely resembles my younger second-year brother, Hugo's chest so you can't really blame her. She's been trying to grow all year, from dodgy Potions to wayward charms.

'Argh, hope not.' Elisha's face drained of all color. 'Shit.'

Looking back, I honestly don't know how I could be so stupid and why I didn't just pick up my robes and get the feck out of that stuffy DADA classroom there and then. It would've saved my entire life. This stupid DADA lesson will ultimately be the reason why I was standing in the middle of that Quidditch pitch, trying to convince everyone I could fly when I couldn't even get myself off the sodding ground.

I shuffled forward. Everyone seemed to be having fun. There were only two people left until it was my turn.

If it was possible to time-travel, I'd be right there beside my present-day self, screaming RUN ROSE WEASLEY RUN WHILE YOU STILL HAVE THE CHANCE.

I took another step forward, another step closer to impending doom.

'Alright, Weasley!' Professor Valencia, cheeks flushed and looking positively ecstatic, gestured for me to step forward. I did so tentatively, wondering what I should do if it did turn out to be an overflowing toilet.

'Erm.' I said, and waited for the Boggart to whirl back into shape.

It was as if time had slowed down imperceptibly.

Then, before I knew it, I was faced with a brand-new, shiny, James-Potter-would-be-orgasmic-over-this, state-of-the-art broom.

'What the?' someone said, confused.

My entire face burst into flames. Well, figuratively. But it was almost as painful.

I'd better explain a little: my dad, Ronald Bilius Weasley, once played a bit for the Chudley Cannons and he was the one who propelled the Canons back to life, breaking their tradition of getting close to last for thirty-three leagues in a row. My dear brother, Hugo Weasley, is the very best Keeper our Gryffindor team has ever had ever since my dad left Hogwarts. So, naturally, people kind of expect me to be good at Quidditch as well. I cannot for the life of me understand why people assume I'm good at Quidditch, which, believe me, I'm not. Especially since I go banging into walls every few minutes or so every single day.

Okay, so I might've implied a few times that I don't play Quidditch because I think it's a waste of time and some mindless sport, therefore inferring that I can play very well if I want to but I just choose not to. Which is a great spanking porkie pie, but I didn't think anyone would ever find out. I figured it was way better than telling everyone I was just terrified of brooms. Not I'm-shaking-in-my-shoes terrified, more like I'm-crapping-and-pissing-simultaneously-in-my-knickers-now terrified.

And so, being the idiot I was and just casually Riddikulus-ing it into a pile of moldy twigs or whatever and saying later that the Boggart was just direly confused, I just stood there. Even the mere sight of a broomstick made my entire being freeze.

'Rose? Rosie?' Elisha nudged me from behind, befuddled. 'Why's it a broomstick?'

'I…' it was as though someone had cast a Drying Charm down my throat; I literally could not say anything because of my sandy tongue.

'Come on, Rosie, just get rid of it.' Freddie Weasley, being very unhelpful.

'You can't be serious?' someone yelled from behind. 'Weasley's afraid of broomsticks?'

'Broomsticks?' someone else echoed.

'No fecking way!' a guy exclaimed.

'And to think she's been saying that she doesn't play because she thinks it's stupid!'

'I'm not!' I finally found my voice. 'I'm not afraid of broomsticks!' Several people broke into fits of disbelieving laughter.

Oh Merlin. Someone kill me now. Please. Just do it.

The broomstick floated closer, daring me to ride it.

'Rose Weasley? Riddikulus, remember? Just picture what you want it to turn into in your mind, very clearly.' Professor Valencia said slowly, eyes concerned. Great. Now she's going to think I'm some idiot who can't even banish a Boggart.

'Riddikulus!' I squeaked, wand shaking so hard it was an indistinct blur. Nothing happened.

The broomstick grew in size.

I took a horrified step backwards, knocking into Elisha. 'Why is it growing bigger?' I shrieked, completely losing my head. Oh shit oh shit oh shit…

'Just say Ridikkulus!' Professor Valencia urged.

The broomstick grew even bigger. So big that the ends of its twigs were beginning to nudge both sides of the DADA classroom's walls.

'WHY IS IT GETTING BIGGER?!'

'For Merlin's sake, just zap the thing!' Elisha grabbed my hands, looking exasperated. 'Just do it!'

'Arghh!' I screamed. I really couldn't help it. The broomstick was beginning to emit a strange, unearthly wailing noise, like a thousand violins being played by utter amateurs. 'Fuck it -' I used Elisha as a shield, shuddering. 'MAKE IT FUCKING GO WAY!'

'Rose's afraid of brooms!' someone else announced. As if they didn't already know.

The broomstick's twigs twisted around and started going for my throat. 'OH MERLIN.' I screamed and started firing off every defense spell I knew. 'IMPEDIMENTA! AVIS! RICTUMSEMPRA! GLISSEO--' I had simply forgotten that all of these spells would be utterly useless in defending oneself against a Boggart.

'Goodness.' Professor Valencia stepped in front of me and the broomstick started shrinking, turning into something else. I couldn't see what it had turned into, but Professor Valencia used some spell to shove it back into the cupboard where it well and truly belonged.

Silence fell, save for the inane laughter and guffaws of the boys. To my total and utter humiliation, even Fred, Dobby and Albus were trying their very hardest not to collapse into hysterical laughter. Even Elisha was looking at me all funny.

Shaking and chattering, I turned on my heels and sprinted out of the DADA classroom.

Well, there goes my last shred of dignity.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Now, I would appreciate it greatly if you would leave me a little review... ;) Hope you guys enjoyed it! Sorry for the long wait, this was unexpectedly tough to write :/ I guess I'm not really good at HP fanfics. Damn.


	3. I Really Don't Like Having A Huge Family

**Broom Closet**

I cannot believe I just did that.

Run out of class, I mean.

I am quite, quite sure that no matter what I do, I'll never be able to live that down.

Ever.

Seriously, I'm so embarrassed, my cheeks have been flaming for the past thirty minutes. I'm replaying that moment over and over and over again in my tortured head, analyzing the situation to death. Why, why, did it have to be a bloody broomstick, of all things? WHY? I must have done something really terrible to deserve this. Maybe I was Grindelwald in my past life, or something. I'm generally a rather decent person, actually. I don't abuse animals, I eat veggies, I pass up my homework on time. Could be a sadistic star I was born under.

Well.

As far as I'm concerned, I'm perfectly fine hiding here in this cupboard. I could live on Stucco's Magic Shoe Polish and some dirty old rags that ancient caretaker Flich uses, no problem. I grimaced, pushing away a stick that looked entirely too similar to a broomstick. This particular Boggart episode has simply served to further convince me that I am entirely incapable of going near a broomstick. I'll probably have nightmares of me careening off a broomstick for the rest of my life.

It's Professor Valencia's fault anyway, what with her and her stupid inflatable chest. Any competent teacher would've moved on to another magical creature instead of sticking with Boggarts.

Argh. I know I'm being immature.

I shifted on my arse - which was slowly turning numb, by the way - and tried not to knock into a couple of really foul corduroy jumpers embroidered with gray cats hanging from the top of the cupboard. I suspected these belonged to Flich. They certainly smelt like him. Like half-decomposed turkey and soggy parchment. Ugh. Not pleasant.

More about Filch - I hear he went more than a little crazy after his cat, Mrs. Norris died a few years before I entered Hogwarts. Crazy as in he talks to brooms and pretends they're alive. Most people make fun of him for it but I think it's a little sad, to be honest.

Alright, More comfortable now. Thank Merlin no one's tried to find me.

Well, it's a bit depressing actually, now that I think of it. No one even cares enough to try and come and find me. I bet they're all still in stitches, laughing their arses off at me, Rose Weasley. I imagine even the Boggart is tickled.

My eyes widened in the dark, horrified. If Hugo ever gets wind of this, I'm dead. That's it. I bet you ten galleons that he'll be repeating it to everyone every chance he gets.

Sigh.

I tapped my feet against the opposite cupboard walls.

Something was poking my back.

I blinked, pursing my lips.

Okay, this is fecking boring. Who knew?

I wasn't wearing a watch of any sorts, but I could tell it was nearing lunch. Mmm, lunch. And I'm itching to get to my next class. I have Ancient Runes after DADA, and Professor Cupnest was going to move on to the Romanian ones today. And I have that essay I spent ages on in my book bag.

Shit. My book bag's still in the DADA classroom.

I felt hair-raising pricklies all over me. I don't feel very comfortable without my faithful book bag by my side. It's like I've lost a limb, or something.

Ever so carefully, I pushed open the doors of the cupboard on the third-floor I'd plunged into after I scampered from the DADA classroom. The corridors were depressingly deserted. I figured everyone was probably at lunch. Right on cue, my stomach rumbled. I'd skipped breakfast this morning and my stomach was empty. Perilously so.

I don't suppose I could just act like nothing happened. Maybe, by some amazing turn of events - like someone casting a Memory Charm over everyone in that particular DADA class, for instance - they could have all forgotten about my completely losing my head at the Boggart.

Yeah, Rose, and Voldemort was a normal, balanced human being.

Ah well. Here goes nothing. I am a Gryffindor, after all. You know, what with Gryffindors being brave at heart and all that toss.

I carefully lugged myself out of the cupboard, feeling all tingly inside.

Look left, look right.

Hmm, definitely deserted.

I climbed out as carefully as I could. Unfortunately, klutzes like me fail at this. Climbing out of cupboards gracefully, I mean. Thus, I ended up flat on the cold - and somewhat slimy stone floor - doesn't Filch ever do his caretaking duties properly? - cheek squashed and deeply humiliated, even though there wasn't anyone there to witness my latest fall.

Argh.

--

I walked as confidently as I could down the corridor, heading to the Great Hall for lunch. Cheek's still stinging, by the way.

Anyway, this I've decided: screw everyone else - they want to laugh, they can laugh. This'll probably pass in a few more days and everyone's going to forget about it. I mean, me being afraid of broomsticks isn't exactly new (I think). People just didn't know how much I detested them.

I passed a couple of second-years, who were giggling stridently, giving me little looks as they passed by.

'What?' I shot at them, glaring. Alright, so a few second-years from my house know. So what? I can handle them. I can.

I strode over to the Gryffindor table, swung my leg purposefully over the seat and settled down beside Elisha.

'So.' I said, all business-like. 'Did I miss anything?'

'Oh. No, not really.' Elisha said, sounding a little odd. I glanced at her, trying not to look at everyone else at the table. Dobby Longbottom, who was sitting opposite of me, was concentrating so hard at looking at his Yorkshire pudding I feared he'd burn a hole in them. A few giggles here and there, but nothing I couldn't take.

'Great. Just great,' I nodded.

Elisha had this weird look on her face. She was all flushed, and it looked like she'd taken an ominously large dose of U-No-Poo, if you know what I mean.

'Rose-' she began in a strangled voice, clutching the sides of the table. I scowled.

'Don't you dare laugh.'

Elisha turned a marvelous shade of magenta.

I grumpily grabbed a steak and tossed it on my plate so violently some of it's peppery sauce catapulted spectacularly into Dobby Longbottom's left eye.

'My eye!' he shrieked, and clamped a hand to said eye in horror. I ignored him.

'It really isn't all that funny. Don't know why you're laughing.' I went with the high-and-mighty approach. Perhaps if I showed people I wasn't much bothered by it they'd forget. As unlikely as it seems. Especially with utter tossers like James and Freddie around.

'Mppghgm.' Elisha was trying very hard to contain her laughter.

'I heard.' Poppy, another one of my closer acquaintances - blonde, short, gray-eyed - slid into the seat next to me, effectively jostling Freddie's elbow and knocking a spoonful of mashed potato into his lap. 'It must've been bad.'

'Real bad.' I replied miserably, furiously cutting my steak. 'I just want to forget about it, alright?'

'Okay.' Poppy shrugged, unfazed. She's pretty much unfazed by everything. Like not a bloody thing in the world shakes her. She shook out her wildly curly hair and dived into her desserts first. The amount she eats in one meal is probably enough to feed an entire starving nation, and yet she doesn't put on a single ounce. Crazy, I tell you. 'Are you worried people will laugh?'

Poppy is also unfailingly blunt. 'Kind of.' I mumbled.

'Don't worry. It'll pass. Eventually.' Poppy spoke through a mouthful of spaghetti bolognaise.

Right. That'll happen.

I just hope that James Potter doesn't hear about this --

'Rosie!' someone said in a familiar sing-song voice.

I didn't even want to look up.

'Is this true, what I hear?'

Really, all I want is to eat my dinner in peace. Instead, I'm accosted mercilessly by unfailingly infuriating cousins. Like James Sirius Potter II, for instance.

I remained mute, shoveling steak into my mouth but barely even tasting it.

'Your Boggart turned out to be a broomstick?'

Several people laughed.

My head whipped up, and I met the mischievous eyes of James. Maybe it's because James and I are related (shudder), but I cannot for the life of me figure out what is it that attracts girls to James Potter. I mean, maybe his physical attributes might be mildly pleasing to the eye - you know, purposefully mussed up raven hair, bright green eyes, and I suppose a rather quintessential physique - but sometimes he is utterly abhorrent on the inside.

This is when I realize a rather large crowd of nosy people have gathered around where I sit.

'I,' I announced grandly, waving my fork around and promptly upsetting Elisha's glass of pumpkin juice. 'am not afraid of broomsticks.'

'That's rich!' Frost Meadow, a fifth-year I don't notice that much, snorted derisively.

'Then why'd you flip out at the Boggart?'

'You aren't honestly fibbing even after we all saw that, aren't you?' a rather air headed bottle blonde who went by the name Brianna Vrisk piped.

'I can't believe you're afraid of broomsticks!'

'Hahahahahah!' someone broke into incessant giggles.

At this, Elisha lost her control and started laughing so hard she couldn't even catch her breath. 'Your - face!' she spluttered, and dissolved into laughter again.

'That Boggart malfunctioned.' I explained as calmly as I could, heart thudding like it was about to explode.

'I heard you ran right out of the room!' James let out a roar of laughter that soon got the rest of the other gits laughing,, too.

I didn't have anything to say to this, so I kept silent. I really wish my family wasn't so bollocking huge. I wouldn't have minded much if I didn't have James Potter as a cousin, to be honest. Or even if he didn't exist at all. Don't get me wrong, we get along just fine (mostly). It's just that sometimes I wish I could just Reducto him into a great big pile of steaming Jamesie ashes.

As if things couldn't get worse, Hugo showed up.

'Rosie! Your Boggart was a sodding broomstick?' Hugo started waving his hands about. 'Please tell me that's not true!'

I don't know what this has to do with him.

'The Boggart malfunctioned.' I repeated again, lying so hard I almost believed it myself. Almost.

'Bollocks! Boggarts can't malfunction.' a third-year named Gina something said scornfully, head poking over Iris Hartsack's - a girl from my dorm, also a rather nice girl - left shoulder. 'They just don't.

'Even if the Boggart "malfunctioned",' Fred Weasley, the ever helpful one, did quotation marks in the air with his fingers. 'why'd you run right out like you were properly terrified? And don't lie, you were terrified, you were.'

'Malfunctioning Boggarts are dangerous.' I told them, a matter-of-fact.

Please don't ask me why I was making up such giant porky pies. Something must have addled my brain when that fecking Boggart turned into a broomstick.

'Yeah, right!' James Potter challenged, delighted. Why, I don't know. Presumably because he'd have something to torture me with for the next few weeks or so. 'That's so bogus!'

'This is priceless!' Hugo started giggling. 'Rose is afraid of broomsticks! Can't wait until I tell my mates.'

Before I could wring his neck, he bounced off.

'I AM NOT AFRAID OF BROOMSTICKS.' I said loudly, standing up, wanting them to go away. This had exactly the opposite effect. In fact, more interested onlookers flocked over, listening intently. I am digging my own grave, I really am.

'Don't deny it.' Elisha placed a hand on my shoulder. 'Come on, Rose, just 'fess up.'

'Why should I?' I said defensively, finishing up my steak.

'Because we want to hear it.' James said, grinning wickedly. 'Imagine, Rose Weasley, the ever prissy and prudish one, afraid of a pile of bewitched twigs!'

Dominique Weasley's - cousin, part-Vela, and utterly stunning in the looks department - magnificent head poked over James's shoulder, having successfully weaved her way through the ever-growing crowd. 'What's going on?' she asked cheerfully in that silvery, throaty voice of hers. I noticed quite a bit of male heads turned towards her to gape in a gormless fashion.

'Rose's afraid of broomsticks!' an overly eager Dobby Longbottom filled her in.

Dominique's jaw slacked. Nevertheless, she still managed to look like she'd walked straight off the pages of Witch Weekly. I swear, she could get tossed around in a tornado, get trampled by a herd of centaurs, get thrown into the Black Lake and still be able to look trés magnifique. Her older sister Victoire (she just recently left Hogwarts) is a looker, too.

My cheeks burned and flushed. I swallowed and pushed my plate away. 'I will not because that's not true in the slightest.'

'Rosie…'

'Do it, Rose!' Fred clapped my back, guffawing. 'Repeat after me: I, Rose Weasley, daughter of ex-Keeper and/or savior of the Quidditch team Chudley Cannons, sister to Gryffindor's best damned Keeper ever since said ex-Keeper and/or savior of the Quidditch team Chudley Cannons left school, am terrified shitless of broomsticks.'

'I,' I was beginning to laugh. Anyone who knew me well enough - like Elisha and Poppy- could probably tell that my laughter was way too shrill and squeaky. 'am not afraid of broomsticks. How many times do you want me to say that? Now, please leave me the bloody hell alone.'

They took no notice of my request.

'Prove it, then!' James said grandly. 'Prove it to us that you're not afraid of broomsticks.'

In books, they always use to phrase "froze in terror". I'd always thought this was a rather overused hyperbole, and that it didn't really happen in real life.

Yeah, well, I was now discovering how very true that phrase was.

'Yeah! Prove it!' Dobby echoed sadistically, banging his cutlery on the Gryffindor table.

I was pretty sure my expression resembled to that of cataclysmic horror, which probably didn't do much to help me.

'How?' Elisha asked, interested.

'We can go to the Quidditch pitch right now and you can show us that you're not, in fact, afraid of broomsticks.' James declared, officially annihilating any chance of me getting out of this predicament. If I'd known that it would come to this, I'd never even think of lying. Where the frick did all my rationality I used to posses go? On a blasted trip to Shanghai?

'Um.' I said intelligently.

'Yeah! Do it!'

Elisha, being the totally supportive friend she was, said, 'Sounds like fun.'

Sounds like fun?

SOUNDS LIKE FUN?

The only way they could ever get me on a broomstick is if they strapped me on with a Binding Charm and Petrified me. And even then I'd find a way to escape. For them, Quidditch is synonymous with "fun". For me, Quidditch is synonymous with "a torturous and agonizing death". They want me to show them I can ride a broomsticks? No bleeding way!

'That's so unnecessary.' I stammered, getting up and furiously trying to think of a way to scarper.

'So you're admitting you're scared, then?' Fred Weasley sniggered.

'I never said that.' I defended myself, not knowing what to do. I can't very well admit that I'm scared now, I'd look like a right idiot. And I can't possibly ride a broomstick, either. Even if I did agree to the broomstick thing, my incompetence on a broomstick would be painfully obvious. Something I don't particularly want the whole of Hogwarts to know, either.

I'm properly fucked, aren't I?

--

'That was… the singularly most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life. No exceptions.' I told Elisha, Poppy and Iris - the three girls that I share a dorm with, remember? - as I climbed into bed gingerly. Today was, without a doubt, a rough first day at school. I was hoping and praying that James wasn't really serious about me riding a broomstick to prove them wrong but I'd gotten my hopes far too high.

James and Freddie will never let me forget this, not even when I'm festering and decomposing in my grave.

'The most embarrassing? Now, I wouldn't say that.' Elisha said from beneath her covers.

I sighed, flipping over my pillow to find a cold spot. 'Thanks for the support, but--'

'I reckon your most embarrassing moment was probably the time you were late to class and you were running and running to Transfiguration…' Elisha started laughing as softly as she could. That is to say, not very softly at all. '…and when you finally came into class you tripped over Beatrice Wheeler's bag strap and went sprawling.'

'Okay, that was pretty embarrassing, but--'

'Or the time you were showering in our bathroom and I had my then-boyfriend - whatshisname… oh yeah, Michael Portmine over.' Iris recalled happily. 'You had a crush on him then. We were getting frisky on my bed and then you popped right out of the shower, wrapped in your pink Dumbledore towel and singing a rather off-key rendition of "Tear My Robes Off" by the Weird Sisters. Oh, and you had that bloody disgusting Muggle mud mask on too. That was pretty sodding embarrassing.'

'Okay, fine--' I was cut off by Poppy.

'I've got a good one. How about the time you got your first period and you were sitting down for lunch and when you stood up again--'

'OKAY, I GET THE POINT.' I gritted my teeth. 'That broomstick thing was in my top ten most embarrassing moments. Happy?'

'Merlin, how about when you were a second-year and that house elf--'

'Enough with the reminiscing.' I threw my hands up in the air.

Elisha started giggling. 'You are an endless source of entertainment for us, you know that?'

'Glad I could be of service.' I replied sourly.

'Don't know why you're so worked up, anyway.' I heard the faint rustle of crisp bed sheets as Poppy turned over in her bed. 'Just prove them wrong. Do that broomstick thing they asked you to. Then people will stop talking.'

'The problem is, I can't ride broomsticks, I honestly can't.' I despaired.

'Ignore them. Plain and simple.' Iris suggested.

'I'll explain - because Rose Weasley here is insanely stubborn and competitive and loves to prove people wrong, this is one situation in which she can't. Prove it to everyone that they're wrong, I mean. So Rose is agitated. She can't ride broomsticks, but she wants to prove everyone wrong. So what does she do?' Elisha declared.

'Nothing.' I grumbled, slightly put out that Elisha knew me so well. 'There's not a bloody thing I can do except wait for them to stop laughing. Ugh.'

Gradually, everyone just fell silent and drifted off. As if my brain wanted to rub salt into my festering wound, I dreamt that I was trying desperately to hold on to a bucking broomstick a hundred feet in the air while a squillion people below laughed and jeered.

Little did I know that that dream would (more or less) come true.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Heehee. Please stick around to read more if you like it (: Don't you ever forget to review!

-burnt cheese-


	4. You Have Seventeen Arms

I'd like to say things got better after that, but of course it didn't.

I try to walk in the corridors as little as possible now. Mostly because every time I do I am mercilessly bombarded with inane broomstick jokes. If I ever heard another oh-so-funny gag by James/Fred/Hugo/any other arrogant, insufferable git in Hogwarts, I was going to Avada Kedavra myself. Better yet, I'll Avada Kedavra the next person who tells me my incompetence on a broom might very like affect my future ability to " ride" other male-type "broomsticks".

Like that's even funny. Well, it might've been funny to _them_ but it was about as funny as a family member's funeral to me. All the houses – Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor – have already caught wind of this. Gossip here travels at the speed of light. Not that I think it's good. Don't Hogwartians have anything to talk about other than me? I mean, really.

Professor Valencia is trying to make everyone forget about itby telling everyone not to laugh at me about it, but of course, that makes it worse. It's been three days now but my broomstick situation shows no signs of disappearing anytime soon.

Elisha's been fantastic, of course. She Levicorpus-ed Raffles Pot, a spotty fourth-year Slytherin, so hard that no one's been able to get him down from the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall since yesterday. His fellow Slytherins feed him by tossing bits of pudding and bottles of water up to him as hard as they can whenever it's time to eat. And all because poor Raffles Pot drew a distinctly broomstick-like figure on a piece of parchment, scrunched it up and threw it across the classroom during Divination.

Iris and Poppy have advised me to " lay-low" for a bit. Since I don't see anything else I can do, I took their advice grudgingly.

And so, I've resorted to frankly very coward-like methods of laying low. Like right now, for instance. I stayed as close to the walls as possible, my shoulder almost scraping against the vaguely slimy stone walls as I tried to make it to the Great Hall for lunch without anyone accosting me.

So far so good…

'Hey! Hey, Rose! Rose Weasley!' someone shouted. I automatically cringed. Maybe if I don't turn around, they won't think it's me.

'Rose Weasley!'

Sighing exasperatedly, I turned around, figuring I'd get rid of whoever it was faster if I let them have their stupid laugh.

'Hey! Hey, look! Whoooo! I'm a broomstick, Rose! Fear me!' a kind-of-familiar fellow Gryffindor pretended to straddle a broom in a rather disturbing way and started whooshing down the hallway, laughing hysterically and his oafish guffaws echoing around the corridor. Haha. Funny.

Of course, people turned to stare and giggle. Who wouldn't?

--

'I cannot _wait_ until people stop talking about this.' I grumbled and slid in effortlessly opposite of Elisha. Or at least I'd_ like_ to say I slid in effortlessly. In truth, I tried to slide, the long bench was thrown sideways by my sudden weight and the long bench crashed down noisily on the floor. I followed suit, my behind colliding painfully with the ground.

Of course, being the Klutzinator, I brought down several other people with me. Food flew. Drinks spilled. You know, the usual shit that happens when I enter a room.

'Shit.' I sighed. Elisha had looked up from her worn Arithmancy textbook to gape in mild interest. 'Sorry!' I waved apologetically to the three Gryffindors I'd unintentionally harmed.

'At least you didn't maim anyone this time.' Elisha shrugged, going back to her lunch and her book.

'Lucky me.' I said sourly, picking myself up and lugging the bench up. I sat myself down carefully this time. Someone remind me to never attempt sliding in my seat again. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid…'

'What's gotten you in this delightfully pleasant mood?' Elisha spoke through her half-chewed asparagus tips, flipping a page of her book.

'Another one, that's what.'

'Who was it this time? What did they do?'

'Some Gryffindor. He rode an imaginary broom and zoomed past me, saying "Fear me! Rose Weasley, fear me!"'

Elisha started giggling.

'It's not even remotely funny.' I glared.

'Sorry. You want me to hex him for you?' Elisha perked up, pushing her brown hair behind her ears.

We both simultaneously looked up to gawp at the aforementioned Raffles Pot who'd been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of Elisha's Levicorpus. Two Slytherins lobbed a bottle of pumpkin juice as hard as they could towards Raffles, and he caught it, fumbling with the plastic bottle. Even from way over here I could see the expression of hunger on his face. Twisting open the bottle slowly, he poured it into his mouth as carefully as he could. That is to say, not very carefully at all. The pumpkin juice splattered all over his face, dripped down his hair and down to the Great Hall below.

'I_ really_ don't want to know how he's been relieving himself.' I said to Elisha, shuddering delicately.

'When do you think I should let him down?' Elisha asked me with a gleam of sadistic pleasure in her eyes. She can be bloody scary at times. Like now, for instance.

'As soon as possible. Isn't he supposed to be dead by now? I mean, I dimly remember reading somewhere that a normal human being cannot dangle upside down for more than one hour before passing out cold.'

'Who really cares, anyway?' Elisha snorted with laughter.

I paused, peering up at Raffles Pot, who at that moment got smacked in the face by a juicy piece of chicken thrown by one of his classmates.

'Hey, Weasley!'

I turned automatically. It turned out to be the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, all dressed in their barf green robes and grasping their broomsticks (ugh, I _detest_ broomstick innuendos) and ready to head off to the Quidditch pitch for practice. It was the captain who'd spoke, a burly seventh-year named Rictus Pucey with horrible teeth that closely resembled picket fences. 'You scared now, Weasley?' he hooted, waving his broomstick at me. Okay, I'll admit maybe I felt the slightly jolt of fear at his shiny broomstick, but I certainly wasn't going to tell that bastard that.

'Fuck off, you!' I screamed, shaking my fist. They lumbered off, still guffawing and laughing like Pucey had said something funny.

'See what I have to put up with?' I moaned, turning back to Elisha. She shot me a look of sympathy.

'Hey, you going to the Quidditch game this Saturday?' Elisha picked up another spoonful of mashed potatoes and slopped them wetly onto her dirty plate. 'It's Gryffindor against Slytherin.' She gave me a sly look, knowing full well I steer clear of anything having anything to do with Quidditch nowadays.

I thought for a moment, chewing through some fluffy pancakes. Logically, if I act like my Broomstick Incident didn't faze me in the slightest, I suppose they'll stop talking. Hopefully.

'Yeah, I'm going.' I said, almost defiantly.

--

**Saturday, the Quidditch Match**

'Merlin, look at those muscles ripple…' Iris sighed dreamily, pointing at a Quidditch player zip by on his broomstick, robes flapping in the cold wind.

Elisha and Poppy groaned in disgust, pushing Iris away. 'That's revolting! You know that was, don't you? Hoyt! Hoyt from Slytherin!'

'But he's so fit!' Iris protested, giggling wildly. There's only one reason why Iris goes to Quidditch games, and that's the male Quidditch players. According to Iris, there's "something sexy about a man riding a broomstick and handling balls". Ugh.

'There! Another one!' Iris clapped a hand to her mouth and practically hyperventilated on the spot. 'Damn, any boy can look bloody sexy on a broomstick.'

I huddled closer to Elisha, trying to hide my face under my red-and-yellow striped scarf. 'Is everyone done staring?' I muttered to Elisha, blushing wildly.

'Yeah, everyone's stopped staring! The game's started, hasn't it?' Elisha rolled her eyes and hoisted me upright so that I wouldn't lean on her anymore. 'Stop being so sodding paranoid!'

'Can't help it. I hate it when people stare.' I grumbled, pulling my scarf tighter around myself. I don't even know why I bothered to come. Gah. I don't know bollocks about Quidditch. I can't tell what's happening. If 'What're _you _staring at? Bugger off.' I snapped at a tightly knit bunch of first-year boys looking a little too gormlessly at me. They scattered. I sipped on my bottle of pumpkin juice angrily. And – um – I sipped a little too hard. The bottle tipped over and drenched a pair of lovebirds who were sitting directly in front of me.

'Sorry!' I apologized hastily amidst cries of 'I've got pumpkin juice down my neck!'

'Watch the game!' Elisha insisted.

I watched as James Potter zoomed by on his shiny broomstick, Quaffle clutched tightly under his arms. 'That takes skill.' Poppy observed as he dodged a speeding Bludger and passed it to Prudence Bell – sixth-year, Chaser – who tossed it inside the far left hoop. I tilted my head a little, trying to figure out what this meant. I don't know what I'm doing here. Bloody hell, I don't know the difference between hopscotch and Quidditch.

'That means they score, right?' I said as our side of the pitch – the Gryffindors, of course – all cheered in elation. Elisha roared with laughter, and clapped me on my back.

'And that's seventy-thirty to Gryffindor! Spectacular goal by Chaser Prudence Bell, Gryffindor team is now doing their signature Mexican wave…'

A little more explanation here: James Potter is bonkers. He celebrates each goal by doing the Mexican wave with his fellow teammates after each goal they score. I could hear some laughter and snorts across the stadium as the Gryffindor team linked hands and started making their shoulders all wavy-like. Even from here I could see crazy grins on their faces. I'm not exactly familiar with Quidditch but I could tell Gryffindor was a bloody good team.

'And they're off again!' Greta Jones, the commentator, screamed, pumping her fist in the air. 'Slytherin has the Quaffle, Fred Weasley, Beater, sends a Bludger his way – and it makes contact! Slytherin drops the Quaffle, Lucy Thomas intercepts and she's got it! She speeds to the end of the Quidditch pitch – she shoots! She – argh….'

One of Slytherin's Chasers, Warrington Nott, had caught Lucy's goal. He tossed it back to his teammates, grinning widely. 'Now, _there's_ one Quidditch player that's _not_ fit.' Iris announced, pointing excitedly at Warrington Nott. With a serious overbite and some chest hair poking nastily out of his robes every time I see him, Warrington Nott couldn't be fit even if he_ tried_.

'_All_ Slytherins are disgusting.' Elisha corrected, repulsed.

'Yeah!'

'That's completely untrue. I do not, for example, think that Scorpius Malfoy is disgusting.' Iris pointed reverentially towards the direction of the hoops of Slytherin's side of the Quidditch pitch. All four of us looked.

I don't really know much about Scorpius Malfoy, except maybe for the fact that he's a Slytherin, he's a Keeper for the Slytherin team and my dad absolutely hates him. I'm not really sure why. Whenever I ask, Dad just tells me to stay away from Scorpius. My Dad would have a double heart attack if he ever saw me even standing next to him. No, wait, Dad would kill me first with his bare hands, and _then_ have a double heart attack.

I've never really understood _why_ Dad hated him so much, though. I mean, I get that Dad and Scorpius's dad used to absolutely loathe each other. Scratch that, they _still_ hate each other. It's just - well - Dad hasn't actually met Scorpius before, and he's making out like because he's a Malfoy he's got to be all horrible and lecherous. I actually think Scorpius is one of the more decent Slytherins. At least he doesn't go around cursing people left, right and centre. _And _I don't recall him poking fun at me after me Broomstick Incident, which is always a plus.

'True.' Poppy sighed. 'Slytherins might all be vile, hideous pricks but Scorpius Malfoy is an exception.'

'I don't see it.' Elisha frowned, squinting in the bright sunlight.

'How can you not?' Iris was outraged. The wind fluffed her elfin blonde hair cheerily, and she started pointing more vigorously. 'That one! _That_ one by the hoops!'

'I know which one he is, thank you!' Elisha snapped. 'He just looks like every other Slytherin boy. Nothing special.'

'Nothing _special_?' Poppy looked outraged. 'Rose, take a good look at him and_ tell_ me he's not special. Do it.'

I did so half-heartedly, using my hand as a visor to keep sunlight out of my eyes. 'Er…' all I saw was a fair-haired boy hovering in front of Slytherin's middle hoop. I dunno, he was sort of far away. Right on cue, he dived forward, tumbling in the air, to save a goal. I couldn't really see much from afar, to be honest.

'Argh – and Slytherin saves Chaser Thomas's goal. It's ninety-sixty to Gryffindor…'

'He's alright, I s'pose.' I shrugged, lowering my hand.

'You people have zero taste in men.' Iris said huffily.

'Look! Albus is diving!' Elisha pointed, screaming wildly. 'He's seen the Snitch!'

The Gryffindor side of the pitch rose in anticipation and excitement. 'Go! Get it, Albie!'

'Get the Snitch!'

'Just a little bit more…'

'And – what's this? Albus Potter has seen the Snitch! He's diving… Slytherin's Seeker Opus dives too – the Snitch! The Snitch!'

With some embarrassment, I realized that I was the only one in the entire Gryffindor stand not jumping up and down and cheering my lungs out. I quickly picked myself up, and raised a fist uncertainly. 'Er – go Gryffindor.' I said to no one in particular. Of course, no one took notice of me.

I really am pathetic.

'What's happening?' I asked absently, wondering if the elves would make us some treacle pudding later for dinner.

'The Snitch!' Elisha shrieked.

I stood on my tiptoes and looked over a sea of heads.

'He's got the Snitch! Gryffindor win two hundred and forty to seventy!' Greta Jones, the commentator, screeched in exultation.

'It's over!'

'Bloody hell...'

'What a game!' Iris said breathlessly, flopping down on the seats again.

'Er – so the game's properly over?' I asked tentatively, not really sure what was going on.

'Rose, you are _hopeless_.' Poppy laughed.

'Party in the common room!' James Potter hollered, loud enough for half the pitch to hear and the Gryffindors answered with an uproarious cheer of approval.

--

**Common Room, Gryffindor Victory Party**

'Gryffindor is victorious!' James started the party by jumping onto a couch promptly joining lips with a pleasantly surprised Veronica Imp, who returned the kiss quite enthusiastically.

Almost everyone was there, I guess. From puny little first-years huddling in the corner absolutely terrified to huge seventh-years lumbering around and sloshing Firewhisky everywhere. It's as crowded as two tits in a Wonderbra in here. I have to use my skinny elbows and jab to get somewhere. Elisha, Iris and Poppy have already called it a night and gone to their dorms, but for some unearthly reason I decided to stay a little bit longer.

'S'cuse me, coming through...' I pushed by a couple gyrating crotch to crotch in a very disturbing way.

'Congratulations, by the way.' I passed by Albus. He turned around, looking drunk on happiness. What _is _it about Quidditch that makes everyone so weird? I don't get it, I really don't.

'You came to the game?' Albus said, readjusting his wire frames and grinning crazily. 'Did you see me catch the Snitch? One of my best dives ever – I just barely pulled out of it.'

'Er – yeah.' I said, a little helplessly. 'I didn't really get the game, actually.'

Albus roared with laughter. I noticed he had a half-full paper cup of curious amber liquid.

'Albus. Is that… liquor?' I said, horrified. I snatched the cup away from him and threw it behind me. Someone's horrified cry of 'Hey! Who the bloody hell threw that?' told me I'd probably nailed someone in the eye with it, but that wasn't important. Well, it probably was to _him, _but that wasn't important, either.

Albus looked faintly uncomfortable. 'I'm just… letting loose, Rosie. Come on! Have a small drink! It tastes really good! You'll have a blast!'

When did Albus turn into such a wanker? He randomly snatched another cup of Firewhiskey from someone's hands ('Hey! Give that back!') and pushed it at me. 'Have a drink!' he repeated, glasses wonky again.

'Rose! Are you drinking?' Freddie stumbled over, already bladdered. A few people turned this way, fascinated.

'No, I'm not.' I insisted, pushing the paper cup away. 'Where'd you get the Firewhiskey, anyway?'

'Smuggled it in. Don't think you want to know.' Fred grinned from ear to ear.

'Woo hoo!' my brother Hugo staggered over. 'I'm sho happeh we won!' he slurred. The soggy paper cup clutched tightly in his hands told me all I needed to know.

'Hugo.' I said as calmly as I could. 'You're fourteen.'

'I know.' Hugo rolled his eyes. 'Whatsh your fecking point?'

'You're drinking.' I added, trying not to burst in outrage.

'Everyone'sh drinking.' Hugo explained. 'What're you going to do about it? Go on, give me a week's worth of detention, then. Or maybe dock some points. What's it going to be?' he shot at me defensively.

'Oh, come on, Rosie.' Fred butted in again, sounding a little put out. 'Loosen up! Have a drink, for Merlin's sake. I reckon you've never had any proper fun.'

'Excuse me?' I was getting bloody mad. I _did _have fun! Fred here was implying that I never ever had any fun, but that's not true in the least. Just because, ever since we were young, I was the one telling them not to whenever they decided to climb a tree or jump off a roof or set Uncle Percy's arse on fire or something. I was a voice of _reason_, not some fun-sucking leech everyone hated.

Right?

'Just because I'm a Prefect doesn't mean I can't have any fun.' I said loudly, attracted a few more people over.

'Then have a drink!' Fred held out the evil paper cup and shook it gently, goading me.

I hestitated. Mum would probably kill me if she ever found out...

'No way.' I pushed it away forcefully. 'I'm going up to bed.' I hated the way I sounded. But really, what else could I do?

'Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!' Albus started chanting. Everyone else joined, thumping their hands against pieces of furniture. Even James had unstuck himself from Veronica's face to watch amusedly. The back of my neck prickled hotly.

'No bloody way!'

'Please?' Fred pleaded, eyes beseeching.

'I'm _fifteen_.' I reminded Fred. 'And so are you, now that I think of it.'

'That doesn't matter.' Fred insisted, jiggling the cup at me.

'Oh, Merlin.' I sighed, and held out my hand. It was just a drink, after all. 'One cup and I'm going up to bed.' I told Albus.

They cheered, knocking their own Firewhiskey glasses against each other's.

I'll just get this over with...

I downed the paper cup in one gulp. My eyes widened. I let go of the cup, letting it tumble down to the floor.

'Good stuff, isn't it?' Fred said proudly, like he'd brewed it himself.

'Yeah.' I managed. 'That's... pretty fantastic.'

Fuck it, it was bloody wonderful. The best thing I'd ever tasted. My throat was still burning, and I felt energized. Suddenly, everyone was really nice. Albus was nice. Fred was nice. Feck, even James was nice. Even that guy standing in the corner there looked nice...

I stumbled over, hardly aware of what I was going to do. My senses were buzzing. Everything seemed fuzzy. My fingers didn't feel quite there.

'Hi.' I said, looking up at this gigantic sixth-year. I couldn't really see his face properly, but that didn't matter in the least.

'Um – hello.' He greeted me uncertainly.

'Let's snog.' I decided, and pulled his face down to meet mine.

--

I don't know how many other Firewhiskeys I had, but I felt better than I had in a long time. In a long... long time... whoa. Is that... is that Mum I see?

'Hey, mum.' I waved happily. Anyone else would've seen me wave at an empty patch of wall in the Common Room but I was far too drunk to care. I reckon I had... six or seven drinks. Eight. Maybe nine. Firewhiskey was really good. Really, really good.

'I feel good!' I yelled, jumping up on a red, puffy couch. I stumbled slightly, tipping over my cup of Firewhiskey.

Several hoots of approval and a 'You go, Rosie!'

'Someone get me another cup of Firewhiskey!' I screamed loud enough to startle Albus, who was sleeping curled up in front of the fireplace. Too close. His left sleeve was on fire.

'Whoa.' I started laughing. 'Albie... you're on fai-yer. Bloody fire. Wait... fire can't be bloody. Or can it?' I started wondering out loud, giggling incessantly.

'I think maybe you had a couple too many drinks, Rosie.' James said.

'You have seventeen arms.' I told him a matter-of-factly.

The Common Room was still crowded with people. About a hundred and fifty, maybe. Most of them were completely blacked out, lying sprawled on the floor with footprint marks on their backs.

So this was what it felt like to be drunk.

'I'm drunk.' I announced, sounding surprised.

'You've just realized that?' someone walked over, tugging me down. I peered closely at the person, squinting my eyes. 'Who are you?' I slurred.

'Jack.' The person rolled his eyes expressively.

'I don't know any Jacks.' I tugged myself away. 'Go away, please.' I started dancing on the couch. Yes, dancing. I don't dance. I really don't. My arms flailed, my hips jerked awkwardly from side to side and for some reason I kicked my leg up high, letting out a 'Hi--yah!'

I suddenly had an idea. A really good idea.

'Hey! Hey, everyone! Wankers and pricks, look over here!' everyone looked over. Those that weren't too inebriated to turn their own heads, that is. I started giggling again. 'Haha... you guys turned around when I said Wankers and Pricks... so that means... haha... you're all wankers and pricks...'

I got the feeling most of them weren't too amused.

'I have something to say!' I said, ecstatic. Why hadn't I thought of this before? This was a brilliant idea!

'I'm going to ride a broomstick to prove to ya'll—' when _exactly_ did I start talking with a Texan accent? '—that I'm _not _afraid of broomsticks! I'll ride! I'll ride...' my voice faded.

'Are you serious?' James bounded over, eyes bright and gleaming. Why didn't all this Firewhiskey _have _any effect on him? 'You're swearing, right? Swear! We've got about—' James did a quick headcount. '—a hundred eye witnesses here. You really swear to it, Rose Weasley?'

'Duh.' I attempted to roll my eyes, but I think my eyeballs got stuck. 'I swear!' I held my arms aloft and started singing in an extremely off-key tone. 'I'm a Gryffindor! I'm not afraid of _anything_!'

Several people cheered their assent, nodding their approval.

'I'm not going to let anyone crack any inane broomstick jokes at me, anymore!' I screeched, feeling better than I ever had in a long time.

'You _promise, _yeah?' James asked, clutching my arms rather painfully.

'Ouch.' I managed. 'Of course I do, you sexy leprechaun. Why on earth would I say something I didn't mean?'

'Yay.' James grinned, and keeled over without a warning. Not even a change in his expression. Guess he was more drunk than he let on.

'I'm going to ride a broomstick tomorrow!' I declared again.

'Good for you.' someone shouted.

'You'd better keep your word.' a tipsy Verity Burbage mumbled, passing by.

'Hey, someone put Albus out.' I pointed. His hair was now on fire.

My vision swam. 'Right, I'm off like a bride's nightie...' I mumbled, already thinking of my nice, soft bed waiting for me in my dorm.

'Ooh...' all of a sudden, I felt pretty terrible. Bleargh. 'Argh....'

I passed out cold.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay, I really, really, really hope Rose wasn't _too _OOC here. I dunno. Liquor makes people do funny things, though :D I do realize it's a little overboard, but yeah :D I'd love to hear (read?) your thoughts!!

Stick around!

Oh, and Scorpius is COMING VERY SOON. VERY VERY VERY SOON.


End file.
